Tomorrow, I Will Be Yours
by Guardian-381
Summary: Haruka and Michiru struggle to reconcile their feelings for each other with their mission. Second half takes place concurrently with Season 3. Shoujoai.


Dedication: To everyone who can identify with this situation. May you all be empowered to find your own happy endings.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon. Elements of this story, as well the title, were inspired by Paula Cole's music.

Tomorrow, I Will Be Yours

_Haruka_

I set my suitcase down on the freshly-waxed floor of our new apartment, and take my first look at it since we signed the lease. The furniture, third-hand but serviceable, has arrived a day ahead of us, and I run my hand over the couch on my way to the window seat. The sun has warmed it slightly, and I'm about to climb into it when a soft click behind me alerts me to Michiru's presence.

"Already leaving things lying around, Haruka?" she says, only half teasingly, as she takes my suitcase in her free hand and carries it to the room which we agreed would be mine.

"It was only there a second," I call after her, and she laughs.

"The problem isn't how long it was there, it's how long it would have been there if I hadn't moved it." She comes back into the living room, sits on the couch, and begins taking off her white gloves. "I like it," she says, and her eyes move around the room before settling on me. "It seems spacious."

"It's as spacious as we're going to get on our budget," I reply realistically.

She laughs, and leans back into the under-stuffed, yet still comfortable couch. "Very true." Her eyes sparkle as they catch the sunlight, and though the moment lasts only a few seconds, I manage to witness it. I love this, observing things in and about Michiru that no one else ever sees. It makes me feel very close to her, in a way that neither battle nor mere physical proximity can. "It's too bad they don't pay us for every monster we defeat. We'd be living in a mansion by now."

I snort. "That would be awkward."

"Do you think so? I think it might be fun."

I kick off my shoes, climb into the window seat, and tuck my legs under me. "I don't know. I think I prefer this place."

"Really? Why?"

I look outside, into the street four stories below us, and my breath fogs the window as I say, "I think that I'd feel cut off, somehow, if we were living in a big house, if I couldn't tell whether you were home or not just by listening. I like knowing you're around. It's… comforting."

I watch her reflection in the window as she stares at me, not quite confusedly. Then, she smiles, but something taints her expression. I can't define it, though, and so I try to ignore it. "That's sweet, Haruka. Thank you."

"Well, don't read too much into it." The words come out of my mouth despite my better judgment and lack of conscious articulation, almost definitely in response to that undefined quality in Michiru's face. "I mean… it's just the truth, that's all."

Michiru's smile broadens, and she laughs again. "Oh, Haruka," she all but sighs, and I wonder whether the sudden color in my cheeks is simply a reflection of the setting sun against the windowpane. "That's so like you."

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Never mind. Come on: the movers will be here any minute with the rest of our things. What would they think if they found us sitting around, with nothing prepared?"

I turn from her reflection to watch her get up. "What do we have to prepare?"

She sighs again. "You'd be so helpless without me," she says jokingly before vanishing into the corridor that leads to our bedrooms.

I don't say anything. After all, she's absolutely right.

_Michiru_

I tear through the heavy tape on the first box in the pile closest to my bedroom door before setting the kitchen knife on the chipped surface of the dresser. I remember packing these boxes, just a week or so ago. I remember the strange feeling of filing my life into them, as though it is nothing more than the sum of the objects I've accumulated throughout it. More than that, however, I remember feeling excited at the mere thought of moving in with Haruka. I envisioned us staying up until three in the morning, sipping tea and talking like the teenage girls we never had the chance to be. I saw us watching a movie together, and could almost hear Haruka's soft snoring over the ending theme. It doesn't matter that Haruka is neither particularly verbose or given to drinking tea, or that we decided that we couldn't afford a television set: I enjoyed the dreams.

And now, I'm as close to their reality as I'm likely to get, and all I seem to be feeling is nervousness.

I sigh, abandon the box, and sit down on my bed. The mattress barely sags under my weight, and I frown in anticipation of the nights that I'll be spending in it. Immediately, I remind myself that this isn't important, that if the greatest hardship I'll need to endure during our time in Tokyo is a hard bed, I will be very lucky indeed.

We'll be very lucky.

I drag my suitcase into my lap, and sift through the assorted practical items that I decided to carry with me instead of packing. A sweater, in case it was cold; an umbrella, in case it rained. A book, in case Haruka didn't want to talk during the train ride; a motorcycle magazine, so she wouldn't have to watch me read. I take the magazine out of the suitcase and set it aside; I'll put it on the kitchen table for her later.

Underneath these, as well as sandwiches and canned drinks, are the few items I considered too precious to entrust to the movers. My violin, of course, and the silver brooch that used to belong to my grandmother. Underneath all of this, most precious of all, is my best sketchbook, the one with my name embossed on the cover. It was a gift from my parents when I turned fourteen, but I've only ever been inclined to use it a few times. I promised myself when I received it, during the same moment that I fell in love with it, that I would only enshrine the most important drawings within it, those which depicted not only beauty, but a piece of my own soul.

I flip to the page I want to see automatically, with the ease of long practice, and there is the portrait of Haruka. In actuality, it's more of a sketch, but only because she refused to sit still long enough for me to attempt anything more complex. When I began it, I wanted to capture so much about her, so much of what I believed I had seen beneath her surface since our first meeting, I wanted to draw not only her cool, stable exterior, but the beauty that had always shone through it, seemingly just for me. It seemed only natural, then, to draw her in mid-transformation, midway between human and Soldier, between relative frailty and cosmic strength. Frozen at the still point between extremes, the very centre of everything.

A knock interrupts my thoughts, and I close the sketchbook before saying, "Come in." I don't bother to put it away.

Haruka opens the door, just wide enough to stick her head around it. "I'm going to get some food," she says. "Is pizza all right?"

I smile. "Of course. You know I'm not picky."

"Alright. I'll be right back." She turns, then leans back in. "Do you want me to leave the door open or closed?"

"It doesn't matter. I only closed it out of habit."

She hesitates, then opens the door all the way. "Alright," she says again. "Later."

Once I hear the front door close behind her, I open the sketchbook again, and my eyes move over every line, every shadow of the drawing, committing it to memory anew, as though it weren't permanently etched there already .

The centre of everything, including my world.

_Haruka_

I allow Michiru to lead me into our apartment, and fall into the couch as soon as she lets me go, wincing at the pain in my side. _The monsters are getting tougher_, I reflect as Michiru goes into the bathroom for the first aid kit. _We're going to have to be more careful._

Michiru comes back a few agonizing seconds later with the first aid kit, and sits down beside me. "I hope you're not too attached to that shirt," she says over the click of the latch opening. "I don't think I can get that blood out."

I snort. "Have you ever known me to be attached to anything?"

Her hands pause in the act of reaching for the disinfectant. They are only still for a second, perhaps two, but I notice, and wonder what made her stop. "No, I haven't," she says, and I wonder whether that's supposed to be my answer.

"Michiru, what--" I ask, hesitantly, but she stops me.

"It's not important." She puts the first aid kit down on the floor, puts the disinfectant in her lap, and shifts so that she's facing me. "Do you need any help taking it off?"

I raise my arm experimentally. Though pain accompanies the movement, it's not intense enough to hinder me. "I should be okay," I reply, and set my uninjured hand to the task of undoing the buttons.

Once I've managed to get the shirt off, Michiru takes a damp cloth that I hadn't noticed before and, very gently, passes it over the wound. "It's not very deep," she murmurs soothingly as I hiss in pain. "I think you got some dirt in it when you fell, though. Hold still for a minute."

My fingernails dig into the couch armrest, and I relax only once Michiru draws back. "That should do it," she says as she reclaims the disinfectant. "It's going to sting. Are you ready?"

"Just get it over with," I sigh.

She does, as quickly as she can, and once the wound is bandaged and the first aid kit tidied away, she sits down next to me again. "We have to be more careful," she says, as though she's been reading my thoughts. "If that last World Shaking had missed--"

"But it didn't," I interrupt.

"--or you had dodged just a bit more slowly--"

"But I didn't."

"--or--"

"I know!" My sudden outburst silences her, and I press my fingertips to my forehead. "Damn it, Michiru… I know. We're in trouble. But… just don't rehash it all, okay? This battle's over, and we're fine. We'll do better next time."

"I know," she says, very quietly, "but so will they."

I look away. "So what do you suggest we do? Pretend we don't notice the next time a monster appears? Pretend we aren't Soldiers, and run the other way like everyone else?"

Her reply is so soft that I almost don't hear it. "Maybe."

I look back at her, and see the sincerity in her face. "Do I really need to explain to you why that's not an option?" She says nothing, and so I continue, though I don't believe I have anything to say. Anything is preferable to silence. "It was you who told me how important this mission was, who was so single-minded about it that I couldn't help but give in. You were so ready to lay down your life for it, at any time."

"You know better than that." Her eyes sparkle passionately as they meet mine. "No one is ever ready to die."

I frown. "Why the sudden change of heart, Michiru?"

"I love you, Haruka," she says, as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

My jaw slackens, and I know I'm staring at her too blankly. I want to say something, to pull coherent syllables from the hurricane that's raging through my mind, but they come too slowly, and Michiru's face is withering too quickly. "Michiru, I…"

"Do you have any idea how it felt, just watching, not knowing what to do, not knowing if you were going to survive?" She gets up, turns away from me. "Do you know how scared I was, how useless I felt? Do you know what I would have given, in that moment, to know that you were safe at home, like the people we risk our lives every day to protect?"

"Michiru--" I try again.

She turns back to me. "I would have given the world, Haruka," she whispers. "I would have handed it over to the enemy, and considered it a fair trade, as long as it meant you were safe."

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true."

I get up. "But you don't have to say it."

"Why not? Why can't I say what I'm feeling?"

I look down, and see my dirty shoes against the slightly cleaner background of the floorboards. "Because it makes it harder to pretend that I don't feel the same way when I hear you say it."

She freezes. Then, slowly, she moves across the distance between us, like mist drifting across water. "Haruka…"

I put my arms around her, grateful for the effort that she makes to avoid touching my wound. "Michiru…" I whisper against her hair. "We can't."

"Yes, we can."

I shake my head. "No. We can't." I let my arms fall back to my sides. "Michiru, let go."

She shakes her head defiantly, but still backs away. "If we can't have our freedom, or lives of our own…" she asks as she crosses her arms in front of her, as though she's trying to hug herself to compensate for my unwillingness, "… why can't we at least have each other?"

"It would get in the way. Can't you see that?" I exhale heavily. "We can't let anything hold us back. If we were…"

"Lovers?" she supplies, with a hint of bitterness.

"…in that sort of a relationship," I continue, noncommittally, "we might hesitate in battle. We might make a mistake, out of worry, out of fear. We might get each other killed." I look into her eyes again, and will her to understand. "Do you think I could live with myself if you got killed trying to save me?"

"I wouldn't care, as long as you were alive."

"Stop being so selfish." My tone grows cold. "It was you who taught me that we have to think of others besides ourselves. We can't get in the way of our own mission."

"I can't help it." She turns, walks a few steps in the other direction, and turns back. "Haruka… how can I just stop feeling this way? We're only human."

"I know." I sit down again. "Believe me: I know."

Silence taints the space between us, like ink spreading through water. Then, Michiru goes down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I hear her light steps on the floor of her own room, and then she's back, sitting on the couch next to me.

"Hold out your hand," she says, and I see that she's clutching a silver brooch in hers.

"It's not exactly the best time to be accessorizing," I say, in a pitiful attempt at humour.

She frowns. "Let's make a promise."

I slouch just enough to place my head against the couch's backrest. "What kind of promise?"

She licks her lips. "If it ever comes down to that, where we have a choice between trying to save each other or getting away alive, we won't hesitate. We'll do what we have to do, and worry about each other later, once it's all over. As long as we're Soldiers, we'll put the mission first." She opens the brooch's clasp, exposing the needle's point. "But when we're not Soldiers… when it's just you and me, and we're here, like this…" She presses the point into the skin of her index finger. "We'll put ourselves first. We'll put each other first." She holds out her hand, and I watch her blood well into the tiny wound. "Promise?"

I take the brooch from her, turn it over in my hand, and nod. "Yeah. I promise." The pain of the needle is nothing, and we press our hands together, allowing our wounds to bleed into each other. "Can I add something?"

"Of course."

I lean forward, so that our foreheads are almost touching. "When this is over… I mean, really over, when there are no more monsters, or missions, and we never have to worry about being Soldiers again… it'll always be about us. I promise you that, Michiru."

She smiles, and though there's no small amount of sadness mixed into her expression, it's a smile nonetheless. "You're very optimistic," she says.

"It'll happen. You'll see." I place the brooch back in her free hand. "Trust me."

She chuckles, very softly. "I'll try."

_Michiru_

I walk down the road a few steps ahead of Haruka. We have yet to undo our transformations, but there's no one around to see us, so it's all right. Sailor Moon and her crew have been left behind, with the Grail. We've finally found it, finally completed our mission, and we just left the prize in Usagi's hands.

"Why did we do that?" I ask as I slow down, then stop entirely.

Haruka stops also, a step behind me. "Leave them the Grail, you mean?"

"Yes."

I can almost see Haruka's frown. "The Grail chose her. You saw it… her second transformation. For now, it looks like she's meant to use it."

"But… we worked so hard." My hands clench into fists. "We suffered so much to get it. We've wasted years of our lives. And for what?" I turn around. "Yes, we found the Grail, but we don't even have it. On top of that, we still have to find the Messiah, and we have no clue where to start looking." I fold my arms over my chest and look down at the sidewalk. "It feels like it's never going to be over."

A shimmering light accompanies the banishment of Sailor Uranus, and Haruka reaches up to brush her hand over my cheek. "Don't say that. It's going to be over as soon as we find the Messiah. Once we do, we can take the Grail back from Usagi, give it to her, and go back to our lives."

"Do you really think it'll be that easy, in the end?" I mean for the words to come out angrily, but all I seem capable of is leaning into Haruka's touch. "Do you think Destiny is just going to let us go, forget we exist?"

Haruka sniffs. "Well, if it doesn't, we'll just turn our backs on it. We'll toss our transformation rods into the river, and get on with our lives." She smiles, very slightly. "After all, we have a promise to keep, don't we?"

I chuckle despite myself as I allow myself to revert to my human form. "Yes, we do." I place my hand on hers, and rest my head against it. "Thank you, Haruka."

She leans down, and I feel her breath against my lips before I turn away. "Not yet."

"Why not?" she whispers.

I raise my free hand, and press its index finger to her lips. "Because I don't want to break our promise." Her disappointment flashes across her face, very plainly, and I try to smile encouragingly. "Don't worry. We'll be together soon."

"When?" she says, as though she has inherited my impatience.

I back away from her. "Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after." I raise my hand, palm up, beckoning her forward. "Come on. Let's go home."

She stares at me for a second, very thoughtfully, then nods. "Alright."

I wonder, as we walk back to the spot where we left her car, how long we are expected to show such self-sacrificial restraint.

_Haruka_

I stand with Michiru at the edge of the lake that replaced Mugen Academy last week, when the Death Busters were destroyed. The wind makes her skirt brush my leg, and I inhale deeply, enjoying the peace, the pure tranquillity of the moment.

"It's over, isn't it?" she asks.

"Looks like it." I close my eyes, savouring her words. It's over, and we survived. We can have lives of our own now, the lives we never had a chance at before.

"Are you sure?" She can barely keep the excitement from her voice, and I smile at her exuberance. "There aren't any more Daimohn eggs, no more Witches, no more extra-dimensional invaders?"

I shake my head. "No. It's over."

She exhales shakily, as though she's been holding her breath for a very long time. Perhaps she has. "I'm so happy. I almost expect to wake up, and have you tell me that another Daimohn has appeared."

I open my eyes, and take her hand. Our fingers intertwine, almost reflexively, and she returns my soft squeeze. "Never again, Michiru. I promise."

She leans against me, and her breath makes the skin of my neck tingle as she says, "So, what do we do now?"

I look down at her, and smile again. "Whatever we want."

"Really?" Her tone is almost mischievous, and I watch her lean up as though she's moving in slow motion, as though I have become divorced from the normal flow of time.

Then, her lips brush mine, very chastely, and everything is suddenly real again.

With considerable effort, I let go of her hand, and begin walking back toward the spot where I parked the car. "Come on. I know I said that we were finished, but there's one more thing we need to do."

"What?" she asks, half disappointedly and half expectantly.

I look over my shoulder, and wink at her. "Ride off into the sunset, like proper heroines. What did you think I meant?"

She frowns insincerely before she too turns her back on the site of our final battle. "That's not funny."

I grin. "Sorry. I promise I won't do it again."

Her frown deepens as she stalks toward me. "I've had enough of promises for this lifetime," she says, and her sparkling eyes dazzle me as completely as if I'm seeing them for the first time. "All I'm interested in now is reality, and the present. As long as we're together, and experiencing life to the fullest, every day… that's all that matters."

"Well, then, let's get going." I wrap an arm around her waist. "We've got a lot of living to catch up on."

"Agreed," she says.

Together, we start walking.


End file.
